


Worth reflected back

by panamdea



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:14:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27343354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panamdea/pseuds/panamdea
Summary: When Red Squadron is rebuilt after the Battle of Yavin, Hobbie Klivian, still grieving for Biggs Darklighter, absolutely does not want to be Luke Skywalker’s second in command. And he'd rather not be Skywalker's friend either, thanks. Luke isn’t going to let him get out of both.
Kudos: 18





	Worth reflected back

**Author's Note:**

> I re-read _Darklighter_ recently and was struck again by how much better trained Hobbie is than any other member of the early Rogues/Reds - he attended the Imperial Academy and before he and Biggs defected he served as the second officer on an Imperial frigate and XO of a starfighter squadron. And yet Luke and Wedge get promoted over him when Red Squadron's reformed after the Battle of Yavin. 
> 
> Unbeataed all mistakes entirely my own. Any feedback gratefully received.
> 
> ~~~~

After Yavin, Red Squadron was cobbled back together from its few survivors and any stray pilots to hand with disconcerting speed. As a well-trained ex-Imperial-command-track officer, Hobbie understood and accepted Command’s haste, but as a Red Squadron pilot reeling from a battle he hadn’t even participated in, that part of his brain was largely drowned out by grief-soaked cynicism; two survivors could barely be called a squadron but why let a little thing like the loss of dozens of good people get in the way of your propaganda when you were capitalising on the mystique of the squadrons that had destroyed the Empire’s ultimate battle station? 

Well, two survivors of the battle itself and Hobbie. He wasn’t sure he counted for much when his only contribution to the Alliance’s single biggest victory had been freeing up an X-wing so Luke Skywalker could have his moment of glory. He’d fully expected to be shunted off to a less high-profile unit undercover of convalescent leave so Command could spin a better story, but to his surprise he’d been transferred from Yavin to the escort frigate _Chancellor_ with the other pilots who were to form the rebuilt Red Squadron. He hadn’t been able to decide if that had been a mercy or a mockery until he’d discovered Skywalker had flatly refused to join the squadron if Hobbie wasn’t kept on. 

If he was a better person Hobbie thought perhaps he might resent Skywalker and his clumsy attempt at kindness a little less. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that the kid Biggs had always spoken of with a warm affection Hobbie was still irrationally jealous of would turn out to be painfully decent and have decided opinions on right and wrong. Opinions backed up, whether Skywalker had realised it or not, by the unusual leverage the Battle of Yavin had given him. But being unwillingly beholden to, of all people, Biggs’ lifelong best friend, survivor-Skywalker, was a bitter irony too far for him to manage with any grace. He dealt with it by avoiding Skywalker as much as he could and focusing on his physiotherapy and rehabilitation instead. That at least was something he had some control over; put the effort in, see results. 

Mostly. Some days, when the sessions left him shaky and exhausted, it was hard to believe he was making any progress towards proving he was fit to fly and he questioned the point of it all. On those days, despite the aching and desire for a hot shower and an undisturbed hour just lying down on his bunk to recover that he would never admit to needing, he’d find himself tucked in an out of the way corner of the hangar. Gazing morosely at the neat rows of the squadron’s few snubfighters, surrounded by the familiar controlled chaos of the hangar he could almost convince himself that since there were barely enough fighters to go round it didn’t matter that he wasn’t flying yet. It would come. He’d recovered from loosing his arm, demonstrated that he had the control and dexterity with the prosthetic required for combat and fought his way back to active duty, he’d do the same with the leg. And if not, he’d find something else just as useful to do. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. It wouldn’t be a betrayal of everything Biggs and Peate and Delund had sacrificed.

Today, he was so busy staring at the X-wing that was the last thing he’d flown that he failed to notice Skywalker’s approach. 

“Hobbie, hi! I was hoping to see you.” Hobbie felt his heart sink. Dealing with happy, healthy, _heroic_ Luke Skywalker, was not on the list of things he had the energy for today. “You're looking better.” 

Hobbie didn't bother answering that. Of course he did. If he looked any worse than the first few times he’d met Skywalker he'd be dead, but Skywalker, with an aggravating mix of warmth and tactlessness, always seemed delighted by any evidence of Hobbie’s ongoing recovery. 

“Skywalker,” he said in the flattest, least encouraging voice he could manage, shifting his gaze from the snubfighter to its current pilot.

It was an added insult on top of actual injury that the X-wing he’d lost his leg to obtain for the Alliance had been assigned to Skywalker. He knew it was a petty thing to be angry about compared to all his other losses but after he’d flown it out of the Incom factory he’d hoped, he’d hoped so much, it would be assigned to him. It wasn’t Skywalker’s fault that possibility had been ripped away by the wound Hobbie had received on that same mission and the subsequent infection he’d nearly died from. It wasn’t Skywalker’s fault he’d flown the X-wing at Yavin instead of Hobbie. It wasn’t his fault, but it hurt all the same and didn’t make it any easier to forgive him for any of the other things that weren’t his fault either. 

Skywalker glanced back over his shoulder and realised what Hobbie had been looking at. “You can have it back. When you’re back on duty.”

Hobbie fought the urge to roll his eyes. “You can’t promise me that.”

“But it was yours, I’m just borrowing it.”

Maybe he actually believed that. “It wasn’t mine, it’s not personal property. And,” he added, knowing as he said it that he was undermining his point but too tired and irritated to stop himself, “Command isn’t going to take the Hero of Yavin’s fighter away from him anyway.” At least he’d managed not to sound petulant. 

Skywalker winced at being called a hero and Hobbie added _annoyingly humble_ to his mental list of things to hold against him. 

“It’s not mine either.” 

Irrationally, Skywalker’s agreement just annoyed Hobbie more. “What was it you wanted, Skywalker?” he asked in his coldest Imperial tone, one he’d learned from a dozen terrible senior officers before he’d defected. Skywalker bit his lip and Hobbie felt a stab of vicious pleasure at having unsettled him. 

Skywalker took a breath and said in a rush, “I’ve been asked to lead Rogue Flight.”

Hobbie’s shoulders slumped just fractionally before he caught himself and fought off any other visible reaction. Of kriffing course he had. Luke Skywalker got all the things he'd wanted. He'd had Biggs’ friendship all his life, he’d been given the snubfighter Hobbie had secretly hoped would be his, and now he was being handed Rogue Flight.

He swallowed the flare of resentment and reminded himself that he'd had Biggs’ friendship too and he didn't want a command anymore. He'd have fought tooth and nail to take it from Biggs and served as Biggs’ second just as happily, but it didn't mean anything without him. But whatever way round, he and Biggs should be leading a squadron together and maybe then Skywalker would join them as a wingmate rather than a totally unprepared commander and all together they would- 

He cut the thought off. He'd always had a good imagination but he refused to indulge himself in what-will-never-bes. Not like Wedge who'd sat at his bedside after the battle, filled with pain and what-ifs. _What if I'd managed to keep Biggs alive. What if I'd stayed in the trench. What if I didn't have to live with the consequences of that choice._

_What if anything but this._

Hobbie put a lot of energy into not thinking about what-ifs. 

“And, anyway,” Skywalker continued, apparently oblivious to Hobbie’s stifled pain, “I was thinking you, me, Wedge and Wes at least and I wondered if- if you would be my second. I know with your experience it should be the other way round-” He broke off looking embarrassed. 

And wasn’t that irony for you? The wrong boy from Tatooine asking him to be his XO.

“Command isn’t going to pass up the Hero of Yavin for some nobody ex-Imperial not on active duty,” he said, a harsh edge to his voice he couldn’t hide. 

He was a little spitefully pleased when Skywalker winced again. He really did not like being called a hero, did he? Or perhaps it was the not-so-subtle suggestion that his appointment was political rather than entirely merit-based. But he couldn’t be stupid enough not to have realised that could he? Probably he had and was asking Hobbie to be his second because he knew he was out of his depth. 

“You're not a nobody,” Skywalker said. “You're an Ecliptic Evader.”

Hobbie’s breath caught in surprise. “Don't call me that,” he said sharply. “That was just-” it had been a stupid joke. Where had he heard the name anyway? Biggs had bestowed it on the remains of Twilight Squadron, laughing and giddy with the success of their overlapping mutinies. Now they were all dead and Hobbie was the only one left. Would they have done the same if they’d known how short a time they’d all have together after?

Yes. 

“I’m sorry.” Skywalker sounded startled and contrite. 

Hobbie took a deep breath, brutally forced back the wave of grief at the loss of his old squadmates and tried to remind himself Skywalker was just naive and wasn’t intentionally rubbing salt in all his still-open wounds. He couldn’t have any idea how much it hurt Hobbie to look at him sometimes, knowing his survival had come at the cost of Biggs’ life. Nobody knew and Hobbie would keep it that way; his heartbreak was nobody’s business but his own. 

“Thank you for the offer, Skywalker,” he said, struggling to keep his voice level, “but no thank you.” 

“Oh.” Skywalker looked surprised and slightly hurt, as though a rejection had never crossed his mind. Perhaps you didn’t get rejected often if you looked like that, had destroyed a Death Star and were known to have Princess Leia’s ear. “Why not?”

Even if he hadn’t been running low on patience and energy, Hobbie couldn’t have begun to explain that there was almost nothing he wanted less in the galaxy than to be Skywalker’s second in command. Not when he’d been Biggs’ in Twilight. 

“There’s no guarantee I’ll get back to combat duty.” He kept his voice flat, hoping to discourage further discussion. 

“You will.” Skywalker spoke with absolute certainty, the words a statement of how the universe was rather than the usual hopeful reassurance people offered. Hobbie’s inner cynic had to work a little harder to remind him that what did Skywalker know about it anyway? 

Switching tactics Hobbie said, “You should take Wedge as your second. He’s steady and good with strategy and logistics. He’ll help you learn the ropes. And he’s another Yavin survivor. Command will like that.” Wedge would be good at it, would enjoy it, and maybe it would help convince him he hadn’t disgraced himself at Yavin. Hobbie could do that much for both of them and then maybe Skywalker would leave him alone. 

“That’s good advice. Thank you.” Skywalker looked thoughtful. “Advising on personnel and politics like that seems like the kind of thing a good second in command would do.”

“I don’t want to be your second in command, Skywalker,” Hobbie snapped, loosing patience. Kriff he wanted to lie down. He wanted Biggs back. He wanted the last couple of months to be a nightmare he could wake up from. 

Skywalker frowned slightly, tilting his head to one side and looking more puzzled than annoyed. “You know, you can be very prickly.” 

Prickly was Hobbie’s only real defence against a rebellion full of people trying to be kind when they weren’t convinced he was a spy and talking behind his back. Prickly was safe and if it made Skywalker leave him alone he’d happily live up to the reputation so he gave him a flat stare and asked pointedly, “was there something else you wanted?”

“I hoped we could be friends.”

Hobbie almost laughed. As though friendship was as easy as just wishing it into existence. Maybe it was for Skywalker. Hobbie swallowed another flare of jealous resentment. “Why do you want to be friends with me? We just established I'm not very likable.”

“Biggs liked you.” 

“Not always.” An insufficient summary of the complicated couple of years they’d spent mistrusting each other over a stupid misunderstanding.

“Wes likes you.”

“He’s an idiot.” But Hobbie felt guilty even as the automatic retort left his mouth. Janson didn’t appear to operate at a level below rabidly cheerful and usually exhibited all the tact of a Y-wing squadron but he wasn’t stupid. In the face of Janson’s casual assumption of friendship — without any encouragement that Hobbie could remember giving him — and his inexplicable enthusiasm, Hobbie had slipped unconsciously from tolerating him to liking him. 

“Wedge likes you.”

“He’s a terrible judge of character.” He had no real explanation for Wedge’s friendship either; Wedge, who had been watching out for Hobbie much less surreptitiously than he thought, who still looked shattered and needed someone to look out for him too. It was something Hobbie had been trying to do as best he could in return, with admittedly limited success. 

And that was friendship, wasn’t it? Looking out for each other and caring for no apparent reason? Was that what Skywalker thought he’d had been doing for Hobbie too? Hobbie had the sudden feeling they’d started this whole conversation with entirely different understandings of their relationship. 

“I like you,” Skywalker continued, undeterred and apparently unabashed that he’d just called Hobbie prickly. 

“You don't _know_ me.”

“Not yet,” Skywalker agreed, “but Biggs talked about you the last time he came back to Tatooine. Not by name, he was always careful not to use names when he criticised the Empire, but I know he meant you. He liked you so I know I will too.”

Hobbie resisted the sudden, desperate urge to ask what Biggs had said about him. It would ruin his hard cynic look to ask desperate questions like that. Irritation with his own stupidity put an unintended edge on his next words. “Are you implying I should trust his judgement about you too?”

“I just think Biggs wouldn’t want you to be lonely.”

“Then he shouldn’t have died protecting you,” Hobbie snarled, ever-present anger bubbling up. He was angry with Biggs for dying without him and angry at Skywalker for being the one Biggs had died for. Angry because it hadn’t been Skywalker’s fault and he wanted so badly to be able to blame him. It would be so much easier than being angry at himself for not having been there. 

He was just angry about everything all the time and it was so kriffing exhausting. 

“I’m sorry.” Skywalker’s voice was quiet now and Hobbie could tell he’d hit a nerve. He’d meant to but the pain in Skywalker’s face pushed a shard of guilt through him. “I wish he-”

“You wish he hadn't?” That made two of them and Hobbie couldn’t keep the scorn out of his voice. If Skywalker noticed he gave no indication, answering as though it had been a genuine question. 

“Yeah. Not that he hadn't protected me but that he hadn't died doing it.” He looked up at Hobbie, eyes serious. “I don't regret being alive, but I wish Biggs hadn't died for it.”

Hobbie regretted him being alive. A bit. Instead of Biggs anyway. Of the two of them he would have picked Biggs’ survival over Skywalker’s without hesitation or remorse. Biggs could have made the shot, he had no doubt. He’d been the best pilot in the Alliance and he doubted the kid was really better whatever Biggs had said. Biggs was always talking up the people he loved. 

But every word Skywalker said, with those painfully kind, earnest blue eyes fixed on Hobbie’s face, made him doubt what he’d thought was true. It was easy to see what Biggs had loved about this kid, why he’d sacrificed himself to save him. 

But that had been Biggs’ choice. Or maybe not even a choice in the end because you did what you had to do for the mission in the moment. They all operated on instinct sometimes. And Biggs hadn't just been protecting Skywalker. He'd protected them all, saved them all by keeping Skywalker alive long enough to make the shot regardless of whether or not he’d realised it. 

“I wish none of them had died,” Skywalker continued. “The Reds, my family. I wish... I lost everyone really. I didn’t have a lot but they’re all gone. I mean, not like my entire planet got blown up, not like what Leia’s going through but- My aunt and uncle were the only family I had and they were killed by the Empire the day I left Tatooine. And Ben, I’d only just met him but it felt like I’d known him forever, and he’d known my father, could have told me about him if we’d had time. But then I watched Vader kill him on the Death Star. And then Biggs was on Yavin, and I have known him forever, we grew up together, and I barely got the chance to talk to him either before he died protecting me. And well, you lost Biggs too. And Porkins and a bunch of people, I guess. I figured, maybe you could do with another friend too.” 

Hobbie noticed Skywalker casually dropping the Princess’ first name into the conversation. Why was Skywalker talking to him when he could be hobnobbing with royalty? She was probably busy doing something very important and didn’t have time right now or-

“ _You’re_ lonely,” Hobbie said in sudden realisation. “You’re surrounded by people all the time but you’re lonely.” Skywalker flushed and Hobbie felt a moment of childish pleasure at having figured this out, then irritation rose again and he said more sharply. “I'm not Biggs, you know. And you aren't either.” 

No, Skywalker was a beautiful hot-shot pilot from Tatooine but he wasn't Biggs Darklighter. 

“I know that,” Skywalker said sounding defensive. 

“So why are you here? You could be hanging out with anyone. Everyone wants to be seen with the Hero of Yavin-”

“Don’t call _me_ that.” Skywalker’s tone was almost pleading. 

“Everyone calls you that. They gave you a medal.” Hobbie had a lot of feelings about that but managed to keep most of them out of his voice. Wedge’s treatment in the aftermath of the battle wasn’t Skywalker’s fault either. 

“I killed a lot of people,” Skywalker whispered, gaze dropping as though he was confessing to something hidden rather than the act that earned him hero status across the Alliance. 

“Yes,” Hobbie agreed bluntly. “And they killed a lot of us too, and if you hadn’t they’d have killed the rest of us as well. The Alliance would have been destroyed and the Rebellion would have been over.”

“But so many people died. Because of a shot I fired. I’d never killed anyone before I left Tatooine but then...” Skywalker trailed off looking unhappy. 

“What did you think you were signing up for? Picnics and parades? We’re at war.” Skywalker had got a parade, of sorts. A medal for his first mission. Real life in the Rebellion was going to be a kick in the teeth after that. Poor kid. 

“I hadn’t thought much about it, it all happened so fast. But you’re right. I’m at war now too.” 

At the Academy they’d been trained to it, carefully shaped into order-following killers. Skywalker had been thrown straight into it over the course of a day, from innocence to a million dead on his conscience instantaneously. Hobbie felt abruptly sorry for the boy. Biggs hadn’t wanted this for him. Hobbie didn’t want it for anyone, but the galaxy was a terrible place and they did what needed to be done so others didn’t have to.

“Have you spoken to anyone about any of this?” At least he could try to steer the kid towards something that would help him cope. It would be no benefit to anyone if he wasn’t functional. 

“I’m talking to you.”

“I can’t be your therapist,” Hobbie said, slightly sharper than he’d meant to. Even if he was willing to try looking out for the kid a little for Biggs’ sake he was not having that. He had his own problems and Skywalker probably needed more help than he could give him anyway. Most of them did. 

“I didn’t mean that, honest. I’ve had some sessions with one of the counsellors. They’ve helped. I meant like as a friend.” 

There he went with the friendship bit again. Hadn’t Skywalker figured out by now how much friends hurt you when they died? Why did he want that?

“Skywalker-” 

“Do you mind?”

Despite everything, Hobbie found he didn’t mind the idea of Skywalker’s friendship as irksome as he had before. But realisation and admission were two different things. “Do I get a choice?”

“No, I meant, do all the Imperial deaths at Yavin bother you?”

Nobody had straight out asked him this before. Maybe they would have if he’d been well enough in the immediate aftermath of the battle. But then again, maybe not. Most people dealt with his being an Imperial defector by ignoring it unless they needed specific skills he’d brought with him. Wedge had come the closest, somehow managing to simultaneously give him space and support without saying very much at all while still processing his own grief. Wedge was a better friend than he was, Hobbie thought guiltily, he should try harder. It made him answer more honestly than he would have done twenty minutes earlier. 

“I knew some of them. Some of our classmates from the academy were posted to the Death Star. It’s just luck we weren’t.”

“I’m so sorry.” Skywalker’s voice was low. 

Hobbie wasn’t sure if he was offering an unnecessary apology for what he’d done during the battle or sympathy for the deaths of people Hobbie had never much liked. He shrugged a shoulder, uncomfortable with either. 

“We knew flying against people we’d trained with was a possibility when we defected. They weren’t all great people but they weren’t all evil, you know? We defected because we saw the problems with the Empire but not every Imperial soldier is a monster.”

After Skywalker’s earlier declarations Hobbie didn’t think he’d take the words as implying a hidden Imperial sympathy. But as an Imperial defector circumspection was an ingrained habit and he didn’t dare come any closer to saying that yes, even though he celebrates the Alliance’s victory and mourns his friends and his squadron he also grieves for at least some of the Imperial dead. The Death Star was evil and commanded by evil but he knew better than most that it was filled with ordinary people too. 

He knew he wasn’t so far off from having been one of them.

“I know,” Skywalker said quietly. “They didn’t all deserve to die just because they were Imperial soldiers. But they did. Because of a shot I fired. I just- I wish some of them could have been spared.” 

So that was what Skywalker was struggling with. But if he wanted to worry about the deaths of innocents- “Tell that to Alderaan.”

Skywalker took a sharp, surprised breath. “Yes, but- I saw the debris field, I know that- But still…” He trailed off, his struggle clear on his face.

“Yeah. I know.” And Hobbie did, he really did. He hated what happened to Alderaan and he hated how many people died over Yavin on both sides. He couldn’t reconcile it all himself let alone help Skywalker fix the same mess in his own head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to make any of this be easier for you.”

Skywalker smiled sadly. “Thanks. It means a lot that you care.”

Hobbie opened his mouth to deny that he cared at all but there was something so brittle and vulnerable in Skywalker’s face that he couldn’t lie to him. Instead he sighed and said, “Skywalker- Luke. I'm- not very good at friendships.”

Skywalker’s smile turned warmer. “Biggs thought you were.”

“Just because we were both friends with Biggs-” He broke off, frustrated. He hadn’t been lying when he said he wasn’t good at this.

Skywalker looked slightly pained. “Hobbie, I don’t want to be fiends with you to replace Biggs or just because I think it’s what he would have wanted. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. I want to be friends with you because I think you’re worth being friends with.” 

“Why? I just told you I was only a couple of choices away from flying against you at Yavin.” 

Skywalker shrugged. “So was Biggs. But you both saw evil and you chose the other side. And you understand why I’m sad even though we won because you are too, even if you won’t admit it to anyone else. And even though you keep trying to convince everyone you don’t care you tried to comfort me.”

“Well, I’d appreciate it if you kept all that to yourself,” Hobbie said a little weakly.

Skywalker grinned suddenly. “Sure. But all the people who matter know already. It’s why we like you.” He sobered. “I’m sorry you don’t want to be my second, but will you at least join the flight? I’ll understand if you’d rather be in Renegade Flight, but I’d like you to be a Rogue.”

“I- I guess I could join the flight,” Hobbie said. Then not wanting to sound _too_ keen he added, “someone’s got to keep an eye on Wes or who knows what trouble he’ll get himself into.”

“Great,” Skywalker looked genuinely pleased. “How’d you like to be a wingpair?”

“Why don’t you discuss wing assignments with your second in command?” Hobbie countered.

Skywalker held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, I’ll go speak with Wedge. And I think you should go and have a rest, you look tired.”

“I’m-” Hobbie stopped his automatic _I’m fine_. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to admit he was tired. To a friend. He took a breath. “Yes,” he said, “I am.”


End file.
